


Voyeur

by jeeno2



Series: Short Stories From the Vortex [16]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Dream Sex, F/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-04 16:49:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6666538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeeno2/pseuds/jeeno2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor goes looking through the TARDIS for Rose, and stumbles upon something he never expected to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as a series of three tumblr ficlets. Two of these short ficlets/chapters are in response to: "Have you seen the -- OH." The third will be in response to "You're the only one I trust to do this."

The Doctor has had a monster of a day.   

It started with a message on his psychic paper during breakfast .  It was from the Poosh, asking him to please come investigate a break-in at their national laboratories.  The new Poosh prime minister, the Doctor knew, has been struggling to establish legitimacy since taking the post six sols ago.  Her advisers were concerned this break-in was another in an increasingly long line of attempts from the opposition to undermine the prime minister’s authority.

The Doctor agreed to come right away.  He knows from experience how poorly a government with a weak prime minister functions.  He’d told Rose she could stay on the TARDIS as he expected to be gone less than two hours.  

“Just need to pop down and have a quick look around,” he’d said.  Rose was wearing those tiny pyjama shorts that drive him mad – the ones with the little sheep – but he’d done an admirable job of keeping his eyes straight ahead and his hands folded neatly on his lap all the same.  “I’ll be back before you know it.”

* * *

 

Unfortunately, however, that had been ten hours, fourteen minutes, and three separate interrogations ago.   

When he’s finally back on the TARDIS the Doctor drops his coat over the back of the jump seat on a long, exhausted sigh.  Now that he’s back, and he’s done all he can to right things on Poosh, all he wants to do is pop some popcorn, find Rose, and watch some mindless telly with her for a few hours. 

With that thought in mind, the Doctor enters the kitchen and rummages around in the cupboards for their corn popper.  To his frustration, though, he can’t seem to find it.

“Where in the bloody hell…” he mutters under his breath, rearranging the pots and pans under the sink.  He knows they’d last used it just the other night.  In fact, he distinctly remembers how adorable Rose had looked using it, the front fringe of her hair falling into her eyes a little as she’d watched the kernels bounce and pop inside.

After five minutes of searching the Doctor gives up, deciding the thing must be somewhere else on the ship.  

Rose will know where it’s gotten off to, he decides.

He leaves the kitchen and strides purposefully towards the library.  He noticed the light was on in there when he came aboard, and figures that since Rose wasn’t in the console room, or the kitchen, or any other place in between the two rooms, that he’ll likely find her in there.

“Rose?” he asks in a loud voice as he approaches.  “Hey, have you seen the – _oh!”_

The Doctor freezes in the doorway, his blood turned to fire in his veins as he takes in the incredible sight before him.

Rose lies prone on the sofa, her eyes closed in slumber, her luscious lips parted, her brow furrowed.  She’s still in those tiny, infuriating pyjama shorts from earlier – she must have had a lie-in, what with him being gone all day.  And her hand, oh gods, her right hand is half buried inside of them, moving up and down in a rapid, unmistakable sort of way that leaves no doubt whatsoever in the Doctor’s mind as to the sort of dream she’s having.

The Doctor turns away immediately, ashamed.  He shouldn’t have walked in on this.  Shouldn’t be here.  But the sweet, cloying smell of Rose’s arousal hangs heavy in the air, surrounds him and teases him and forces its way past his carefully-wrought layers of self-control.   He breathes deeply, unable to resist its sweet intoxication, and he feels himself harden at once inside his trousers. 

Rose lets out a quiet, pleasured moan from behind him, and the sound travels all the way down his spine, hardening him even further as he squeezes his eyes shut tight and tries to shut it out.

“Doctor…” she says a moment later.  His eyes fly open.  Did she just say….? “Oh, _please_ … _!_ ”

He quickly turns around to face the room again.  He can’t help it.  She just cried out his _name_  in her _sleep_ , for god’s sake _._ Her eyes are still screwed tightly shut and her mouth is open in a wide _O_  of pleasure, her back arcing off the couch as what can only be her dream-fueled orgasm clutches her in its grip.

A moment later her body falls back down to the sofa.  Smiling a little, Roserolls over.  Her body relaxes again, and as she curls up a little into herself she lets out a sleepy sigh.

The Doctor, however, stands at the doorway to the library like an idiot, blinking slowly, rooted to the spot and more aroused than he’s ever been in any of his lives.  He screams at himself to leave the scene, berates himself for having witnessed something intensely private that Rose couldn’t control and certainly hadn’t wanted him to see.  But he can smell her, still, the heady musk of her, surrounding him, and he palms himself without realizing he’s doing it, unable to make his bloody feet tear him away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part three will be posted on tumblr tonight and on AO3 tomorrow. ;)

After what feels like hours – but which the Doctor knows has only been three minutes and fifty-eight seconds – he finally manages to unstick the soles of his shoes from the floor and shuffle leadenly away from the library.

The sight and sounds of Rose in the throes of her own self-pleasure are not, however, things he will be able to forget anytime soon.  On the contrary: they remain with him even as he walks away from the library and leaves her to her nap.

By the time the Doctor’s made it to the console room he’s more keenly aware of his arousal than he’s been at any time in recent memory, his cock almost painfully stiff inside his trousers.  He closes his eyes and attempts to redirect the blood flow towards other, more productive parts of his body.  But it’s no use.  Behind his eyelids he sees Rose, as she was just moments ago, writhing under her own touch on the library sofa, her mouth in a round perfect _O_  as her pleasure reached its ultimate peak.

Before he’s realized he’s doing it the Doctor is palming himself through his trousers again, desperate for any kind of friction that will ease this torture of wanting.

It’s been a very long time since he’s done… _this_ to himself, he realizes, as his hand begins to speed up a little of what seems like its own volition.  Has it been a century?  Perhaps not.  But close.  He knows it’s been a very long time since he’s been this wound up, this intoxicated by another person’s proximity.  Rose tears down every single one of his carefully-constructed defenses without even trying.  Without even knowing she’s doing it.  She has ever since the moment he met her, back when he was all ears and leather and too far damaged by war and pain to see the beauty still out there in the universe. 

After a long moment of warring with his conscience the Doctor, at length, gives up and sighs, defeated.  He sits gingerly down on the jump seat and undoes his belt buckle and zip with shaking hands.  He closes his eyes and slides his hand inside the fabric of his trousers, deciding he might as well get this over with quickly.  He hisses loudly when his hand comes into contact with his aching length, and he throbs needfully against his palm.

He doesn’t remember it being this… intense, before.  It can’t possibly have been.  He moves his hand again and he whimpers involuntarily.

This overly-tactile body will be the end of him.

The Doctor works quickly, giving in to the sensations, long-dormant muscle memory kicking in and guiding the movement of his hand in a way he couldn’t have deliberately orchestrated if he’d tried.  He does everything he can to imagine other women, other bodies, first.  But it’s no use.  Every woman he conjures becomes Rose in nanoseconds, her smile, her breasts, her eyes rolling back into her head as he enters her, her voice murmuring his name into his ear.

It isn’t long at all before he’s close to the edge, every nerve in his body screaming, begging for release.  “Rose,” he says on a strangled sob, wishing desperately that this were _her_  hand, _her_  touch, rather than his own poor substitute.

And then suddenly, a small, warm hand that is very much not his own rests itself on top of his, stilling his movements at once and shocking him to the core.

He opens his eyes.

“Doctor,” Rose says.


	3. Chapter 3

The Doctor blinks once, and then again, unable to quite believe that Rose is here, that she’s touching him, and she really just caught him doing…. well. _This._

“Errr,” he says stupidly.  He can tell his face has begun to turn red from embarrassment.  In the moment, however, he’s too far gone to care. 

“Hello, Doctor,” Rose says, a wry smile playing on her lips.  She eyes him up and down deliberately.  Her smile grows.

A moment later – before the Doctor’s had a chance to recover his wits –  Rose carefully positions herself over him and then sits, straddling him, one of her shapely legs slung over each one of his hips.  Slowly, carefully, as though his body were something precious and fragile, Rose reaches down between them and gently grazes her fingertips back and forth along the sensitive exposed flesh of his upper thighs.  She takes her time, teasing him with just the lightest of touches, leaving a trail of fire and gooseflesh in her wake.  She inches closer and closer to where he desperately wants her hands to be with every pass but doesn’t rush, never quite giving him what his body cries out for.

“Rose,” he manages to choke out.  “What are you….? Why…?”  She’s still moving her hands over him and oh _gods_ this is everything he’s ever wanted in any of his lifetimes and more.  But what they’re doing right now is such an enormous departure from what they were to each other just this morning.  They can’t go back from this.  Certainly they need to stop for a moment and talk about what’s happening?

But then one of Rose’s delicate hands brushes up against his length, and everything intelligible he might have said to her flies right out of his head.  He bucks into her palm involuntarily, unable to stop himself because it just feels so bloody good.  He doesn’t even bother trying to stifle back the groan the sweet touch of her hand wrings from him.  Rose’s hand lingers on him, slowly stroking him from base to tip, bringing her hand up and then back down again in such a maddeningly slow rhythm the Doctor isn’t quite certain he’s going to survive this.

And then, without warning, Rose takes her hand away.  The Doctor whines in protest in spite of himself, jerking his hips up, desperate for the return of that sweet friction, desperate for her to come back to him and resume what she’d just been doing.  He doesn’t tell her what he wants with words, but Rose seems to understands his meaning well enough, because she leans forward and kisses his tip so gently it could be almost be considered chaste in any other context.

“I just woke up from a really good dream, Doctor,” she tells him.  She’s leaning back on her haunches now, considering him from half-lidded eyes.  Her pupils are fat black pools inside bright honey-colored irises, and he knows, in that instant, that she wants this just as much as he does.

He swallows thickly.  Runs his hands through his hair in an attempt to calm himself down.  “A dream, you say?”

She nods.  “Mmm,” she tells him.  “Think you already know that, though.”  Without another word Rose slides off his lap and onto the floor.   Slowly, tenderly, she nudges his knees apart and slides into the space between them.  She presses one gentle kiss to the inside of each thigh.  “Can I show you what you missed, Doctor?”

Without waiting for an answer Rose grasps him firmly in her right hand, closes her eyes, and then leans forward, taking him into her mouth with a delighted hum.

“Rose,” the Doctor lets out on a strangled cry, the back of his head hitting the jump seat.

As Rose gets to work – the straps of her sleep shirt slipping halfway down her shoulders as she moves over him, her tongue sliding tortuously around and around his tip – all the ardor the Doctor feels for this precious girl momentarily overpowers everything else.

He wonders, fleetingly, why he’s so surprised by this.  Rose holds him – all of him; from the top of his head down to the tips of his toes – in the palms of her hands.  She has from the moment he met her.   As desperately as he craves joining with her, body, mind, and soul, he never imagined that intimacy with her would only be about sex.

But these thoughts don’t stay long.  Soon enough there’s no room for anything else but Rose, and _this._ She makes quick work of him, bobbing her head as she suckles him in such a slow, practiced rhythm he’d wonder just how she got so good at this if he were capable of rational thought.  He forces himself to keep his eyes open, wanting to watch himself disappear over and over again inside her mouth.  He watches her cheeks hollow out around him as she sucks the sight of her devouring him more glorious than anything he’s seen in the universe.  

As he gets closer she moans a few times – whether out of genuine desire for him, or just for his benefit, he cannot be sure.  The reverberations they cause end him, and she coaxes his orgasm from him effortlessly, pulling it from him before he’s even aware he’s on the edge.  It catches him by surprise and his body contracts, contorts, a scream of pleasure trapped in his throat as she soothes him through it.

They need to talk, he knows.  What does what just happened mean for them?  It’s imperative that Rose know she’s the only one he’s ever trusted enough to do this.  She has to know how much, how desperately, he needs her.

But as Rose gathers him into her arms and presses sweet, gentle, grateful kisses to his neck, he only shudders against her and holds her close.

He decides there’ll be plenty of time for talking later.

Of course there will be.

They’re in a time ship, after all.  They have all the time in the world.


End file.
